Kay looked down. A lady porcupine, with tiny new quills, was
showing recognition, even affection, if such a spiny beast could be
said to possess that quality.

Somehow the presence of the beast restored Kay's mind to normal.

"Well, he's left us both in the lurch, Susie," he said. "Good luck to
you, beastie, and may you find a secure hiding place until your quills
have grown."

* * * * *

Drowning men catch at straws. Kay snatched out his watch, and the
illuminated dial showed that it was already two quintets past
horometer 13. He darted back to the cabin. The door was unfastened,
and his torch showed him that, though Cliff had evidently departed,
and taken his things, the interior was much as it had been. When Kay
picked up the telephotophone, the oblong dial flashed out. The
instrument was in working order.

He turned the crank, and swiftly a succession of scenes flashed over
the dial. On this little patch of glassite, Kay was actually making
the spatial journey to Albany, each minutest movement of the crank
representing a distance covered. The building of the New York Division
appeared, and its appearance signified that Kay was telephonically
connected. But there was no automatic voice attachment, an expense
that Kay and Cliff had decided would be unjustified. He had to rely
upon the old-fashioned telephone, such as was still widely in use in
rural districts. He took up the receiver.

"Sub-Station F, Loyalist Registration, please," he called.

"Speaking," said a girl's voice presently.

"I want the Z numbers. All from Z5 to ZA," said Kay.

And thus, in the dark hut, he listened to the doom pronounced, miles
away, by a more or less indifferent operator. When the fatal number
was read out, he thanked her and hung up. He released the crank, which
moved back to its position, putting out the light on the dial.

* * * * *

For a moment or two he stood there motionless, in a sort of daze,
though actually he was gathering all his reserves of resolution for
the task confronting him. Simply to find Ruth among the hundred
thousand victims, and die with her. A task stupendous in itself, and
yet Kay had no doubt that he would succeed, that he would be holding
her in his arms when the tide of hell flowed over them.

He knew the manner of that death. The irresistible onset of the giant
masses of protoplasm, the extrusion of temporary arms, or feelers,
tha